


Vertigo

by genagirl



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, M/M, Movie fic, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genagirl/pseuds/genagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is feeling like his life is spinning in circles.  And well, it sorta is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vertigo

Vertigo - gena 

 

Jim Ellison was flying. At least, it felt like he was flying, rooftops flashed by beneath him in a blur. His long legs pumped without conscious thought, eating the distance between him and his prey. Jim stretched his sight out, effortlessly focusing in on Carson Potts' fleeing form. He could see the sweat glistening on Potts' face each time he cast a desperate glance back over his shoulder. He could hear Potts' labored breathing, the wheezing rattle that signaled he had about reached the end of his endurance. Jim doubled his efforts, gathering his legs beneath him and leaping across an impossible distance to cut the felon's escape. He barely registered the sound at first, the scrabbling clatter so like rocks tumbling down a hillside. It wasn't until he heard his name that realization hit him, making him falter and turn to look back.

 

"Jim!" Panicked, full of fear, Tyson Rafe's voice speared through him like a knife. 

 

"Rafe!" Ellison spared Potts one look then turned and raced back to the building's edge. Rafe hung on by his fingers, the gutter beneath them collapsing like butter in an oven, screws shrieking as they tore from their holes. "Hold on!" Jim screamed but even as he reached down, the fragile metal gave way. "Rafe! No!" Tyson Rafe's eyes fixed on his, the knowledge that he was about to die huge and black within them. Jim could not look away, could not keep himself from seeing the horror of that knowledge which twisted his friend's mouth into one last scream - a scream which was Jim's own name. 

 

***

 

"So, what's the verdict?" Simon Banks asked. He sat perched on a high stool, a cigar smoldering beside him, sketch pad on the desk before him. When Jim didn't answer immediately, he glanced up. "Jim?"

 

"Oh, sorry, Simon," Jim said. He'd been watching Banks work, amazed by the delicate drawings he could produce with hands the size of dinner plates and strong enough to crush skulls. Banks had been his Captain when he first joined Major Crime, but an ex-con with a nasty grudge had put an end to that career. Banks had given up his shield and in a fit of wild disregard for what his family and friends might think, gone back to his first love - painting. Jim had found a second home in Simon's bright and airy studio as he slowly recovered from that night on the roof. It was Banks who had sat with him in the dark after a nightmare, who encouraged him to think about the future, and it was Simon who had nodded solemnly when Jim announced his decision to leave the police. 

 

"I asked you when the doctor would release you," Banks repeated.

 

"Tomorrow. I'll be as right as rain," Jim said, grinning. "Well, maybe not as right as rain but okay."

 

"So, you just won't climb any ladders."

 

Ellison laughed. "Yeah, nothing over a foot off the ground." He hoisted himself from the chair, his back pulling slightly with the movement. Simon noticed the wince but Jim waved away his concern. "It only hurts a little now."

 

"God, Jim, when they brought you down from there," Banks set down his pen, shaking his head as he stared at Ellison, "you were practically catatonic. Your arms were locked, outstretched -"

 

"I know, I guess I'm just lucky all I got was a few torn muscles and a bad case of acrophobia. Not like Rafe-"

 

"Stop it!" Simon's bark startled him. "It wasn't your fault, Jim." He rose, coming over to place an arm around Jim's shoulders shaking him gently. "Rafe would not want this to ruin your life, okay?"

 

"Yeah, okay." Simon gave him another hard squeeze then returned to his work. Jim idled around the room, picking up sketches, here and there. A lot of them were of him. "Why didn't it work out?" he asked suddenly.

 

"What? Us?" Banks didn't look up. 

 

"Yeah. We were good together, for a while anyway." 

 

"I wanted what you couldn't give."

 

Ellison sifted through the pictures, seeing himself as Simon did. Who was that heroic man? Where had he gone? "Did you really think I was Superman? Must have been the heightened senses."

 

Now Simon did look up, his dark face surprised, "That's the first time you've even mentioned your senses since - since it all happened. I know how erratic they could be and how bad it was. Are they coming back?"

 

Jim shook his head, "Nope. Happily normal here. Well," he stood, automatically shying away from the large windows that gave Simon's studio such an amazing view over Cascade, "as normal as an acrophobe can be." 

 

"What are you going to do with yourself, Jim?"

 

"Now or in general?"

 

"Both."

 

"I'm just going to wander around," Jim said. "I do have independent means, you know. Coming from money does have its advantages, especially when you can't work anymore."

 

"You could work," Simon pointed out.

 

"What, a desk job?" Jim gave him a disgusted look. "I don't play their games, Simon, you know that. I'd last about a week."

 

"What about now? What are you going to do?"

 

Jim considered the question. "Do you remember Gavin Desmond?"

 

"Burglary?"

 

"Uh huh. I got a call from him yesterday. Wants to meet, gave me an address down on Duncan."

 

"That's the docks, isn't it?"

 

"Yep. Maybe he's fallen on hard times." Ellison headed for the door, pausing with one hand on the knob, "I'll buy him a couple of drinks and tell him my woes." With a wave, he was gone.

 

The address Desmond had given him turned out to be Oxley Ship Building. Jim was shown into an office that would have made his old man drool with envy. Expensive carpet and curtains, the desk a massive mahogany job that three men could have worked at, and paintings the likes of which he'd only seen in museums before. "You've come up in the world, Gavin," Ellison said, shaking hands. Desmond smiled. He wasn't as tall as Jim, but his Armani suit added to his stature and there wasn't a hair out of place on his head. He wore a pencil thin mustache that hadn't been in style since Errol Flynn's day but on him it looked right at home. 

 

"I did it the easy way," Desmond said. "I married money. This was my late wife's company. I'm running it for her son."

 

"Oh, I'm - I'm sorry," Jim said somewhat taken aback by Desmond's matter of factness. 

 

"It happened several years ago. Accident, you know." He waved Jim to a seat and held up a decanter of scotch. "Drink?"

 

"No, thanks. So, why'd you want to meet?" Jim asked. 

 

"As I said, I'm running this company for Maggie's son, Barrington Lannier. He's why I asked you here." Jim remained silent. Interrogations had taught him the importance of listening; sometimes, it was what didn't get said that made all the difference. "He's a great kid, smart, funny, well liked."

 

"But."

 

Desmond sighed. "Do you believe that people can be hurt by what can't be seen? Do you think someone can reach out from the grave and harm another person?" Ellison knew his expression must be bordering on stupefaction because Desmond hurried on. "I do, Jim. It's the only thing that can explain what's happening to Barrington."

 

"Okay. You want to explain it to me?"

 

"Barrington is amazing. He entered collage at sixteen. By the time I met him he had two degrees and was working on his masters. He's bright and articulate, and witty and -" Desmond slugged down his drink and stared into the empty glass for a moment. "He used to be anyway. Now, when I talk to him he drifts away. He'll get this look, like he's hearing something else, something far away. I ask him, ‘Where did you go?’ and he can't answer me. He no longer teaches at Rainier, he quit almost two months ago and when I question him on what he does all day, he shrugs. I followed him once," Gavin confessed quietly. "He drove to Bay Bridge and sat there in his car. I had to leave after a while and that night, when I asked him, he said he'd gone to the bay and watched the ships. He's like my own son, Jim and I'm losing him."

 

"I think you need medical help."

 

"No! Not yet, Jim. I can't just send him someplace and let doctors poked around in his head. You don't know how special he is." 

 

"What is it you want from me?"

 

"I know from the papers about what happened, about the acrophobia and everything that went on."

 

"Then you know I quit the force," Jim said.

 

"Yes. But that doesn't make you any less the detective you are," Desmond pointed out with a grin. "I need information, Jim. I just want you to follow Barrington. Just - just watch him. If you think he's a danger to himself or anyone else, then I'll do what I have to but not until then." He gave Ellison a last, pleading look. "Come by Ernie's tonight. I'm taking Barrington there for dinner. Come and get a look at him, Jim, and you'll see how special he is and why I need your help."

 

Knowing he shouldn't, Jim nodded. "Okay. I'll be there."

 

***

 

Ernie's. The name glittered in the darkness, casting a halo around a door discreetly set in an elegant old building. Jim entered, bypassed the maitre d' and made his way to the bar. As he waited for his drink he scanned the room, noting the cream of Cascade society in their natural habitat. He saw several of his father's business partners in one corner and there, just beyond them, he spied Gavin Desmond. He sat facing Jim so that Ellison could see nothing of Barrington Lannier but an expensive black suit and a fall of dark curls held back by a tie. As if on cue, Desmond and his companion rose, and Jim got his first look at Lannier. Time ground to a halt and the world seemed to melt away like ice in a spring rain, the babble of conversation, the clatter of silverware, everything in the room faded from his sight but the face of Barrington Lannier.

 

The young man paused, glancing idly over the room and Jim felt his heart constrict in his chest. Barrington had the high forehead of an academic, but possessed the delicate mouth of a poet. His deep blue eyes blazed under sooty lashes but when he turned Jim could see a tinge of sadness within the exotic depths. He possessed a power that went straight through Jim and made him want only to stand there and look his fill. And then, as suddenly as it had stopped, time began again. Gavin appeared at Lannier's side, guiding him with a proprietary hand on his arm. Jim watched them go; already knowing he would do as Desmond asked. There was no way he could refuse, not after seeing Barrington.

 

***

 

The Sandford occupied and entire city block, its L shape and private courtyard making it one of Cascades most prestigious places to live. Jim sat in a rented Lexus, watching the front entrance. Fifteen minutes later, the doorman ushered a well dressed figure out into the courtyard. Lannier. He wore white linen trousers and a sapphire shirt that shimmered with each movement of his body. Jim held his breath as Lannier climbed into a dark green classic Volvo and pulled out of the apartment complex. He stayed close, afraid of losing Lannier in the tangle of traffic and almost panicked when the rounded trunk he'd been fixed on disappeared. Ellison sped up and caught sight of the car turning into a narrow alley. Lannier parked, and went in through a battered wooden door. Jim did the same, carefully maneuvering his car behind a dumpster then entering the same door. He found himself in a storeroom of some kind, mops, brooms, discarded boxes but another door was set further along the wall. He crept nearer, nudging it open a mere crack and peering out. Lannier stood among mounds of flowers, but their sweet fragrance and dazzling hues only served to emphasize the deep sorrow of the young man. A clerk appeared and handed him a small arrangement of flowers, a boutonniere of two roses, one yellow the other white. Lannier paid and turned towards the concealed door. Jim hustled, moving more quickly than he had in weeks but managed to get back to his car before Lannier saw him.

 

Jim had no chance to think before they were moving again. The Volvo wound through streets with ease and a kind of grace, leading Jim to the outskirts of Cascade, to an old Catholic church. Again, Jim followed as Barrington left his car and went inside. He passed through the main chapel, out a side door, and into a well tended churchyard. Graves were sprinkled throughout lush trees and shrubs. The place was peaceful, tranquil but a sense of unease crept over Ellison. He stayed back, seeming to meander among the stones but in truth he kept a close eye on his charge. Lannier moved directly to one stone, he stood for a long time merely gazing down at it, his expression almost blank. Then he turned and made his way from the churchyard. Jim hurried to the grave, noting the name inscribed with interest - Carlos Valdes.

 

The Volvo next led him to the Nelson Atkins Museum where Barrington sat staring at a large portrait for more than an hour. Jim worked his way closer, careful to stay among the groups wandering the large gallery. When he stood across from where Barrington sat he saw got a good look at the painting. It was of a swarthy, handsome man in his late twenties. He had a kind but sad face, the eyes of which seemed to gaze at the viewer with gentle humor, his clothes were rich and gave him the rakish air of an adventurer. A golden ring, two serpents entwined, flashed from his hand but something more leapt out at Jim above that, the boutonniere the man in the painting wore was the same as Barrington now held. And his hair, Lannier's hair was pulled back and tied exactly like the figure he stared at. A chill passed through Jim, he did not like this at all. He lingered a moment as Lannier rose and headed for the exit, waving over one of the guards.

 

"Excuse me," he said, "who is the man in that painting?" He pointed to the one which had held Lannier so rapt. 

 

"That's Carlos Valdes. Here, the catalog tells all about the painting." He handed Jim a thick brochure. Ellison thanked him, stuffed it in his pocket and continued trailing Lannier. Once again he fixed on the Volvo's taillights, and followed its seemingly random course through Cascade. They were heading south, into the oldest section of the city. Huge old houses lined the street, most of them peeling and sagging but here and there one looking as if it might be getting a new lease on life. This was where the town had begun; it traced its history back to when Cascade had been a rail stop where timber could be loaded onto trains bound for the east coast. Barrington parked in front of one of the old mansions, this one weathered but proudly proclaiming itself the McKittrick Hotel. He went inside and a moment later Jim saw him at the window of the second floor front room. Ellison headed inside, surprised by the rich interior. A massive oak desk took up the left hand wall, flocked wallpaper and ornate furnishings invited the eyes. A staircase lay opposite, rising upwards in rich waves. 

 

"May I help you?" Creaking with age, a white haired woman peered at Jim from behind thick glasses.

 

"Who has the room on the second floor, the one in that corner," he pointed to the one he'd seen Lannier in. 

 

"Oh, I can't give out that information. Our guests like their privacy and I think it might be illegal even." Jim flashed his badge; glad he hadn't been able to leave it behind yet. "Police? Has he done something wrong?" 

 

"I just need his name, and how long he's rented from you, please."

 

The old woman frowned, the thought of good gossip slipping through her fingers not a pleasant one. "Carlos Valdes. He started coming here about a month ago."

 

"Does he stay overnight?"

 

"No. Usually comes in two or three times a week, sits looking out the window for hours on end then leaves." She shook her head, "It's none of my business. He's quiet and pays his bill." 

 

"Did he say anything today?"

 

The woman gave him a puzzled look. "He hasn't been here."

 

"I saw him come in," Jim insisted.

 

"No, he didn't. I've been right here all day."

 

Ellison strode to the front window. Lannier's car was gone. "Damn," he cursed softly. He'd seen the kid come in here; he knew it, so how had he just vanished? 

 

***

 

"....and then I followed him to a dilapidated old hotel on Syracuse," Jim finished and sat looking over at Desmond. His old colleague hadn't said a word; he sat staring down at his hands, his face grave with worry. "Gavin?"

 

"It's worse than I thought," Gavin said. He raised his eyes to Jim's. "Carlos Valdes was Barrington's great grandfather. He came here around the turn of the century from some mission to the south of here. He made a small fortune of his own and fell in love with Carlotta Sands, the daughter of a local land baron. They were married over her family's protests and when she died in childbirth, they took the baby. Carlos vowed to get his son back, but the Sands family ruined him. Carlos was a broken man in his last days. He would wonder the streets, asking strangers if they could help find his son." Gavin closed his eyes, when he opened them they were bleak. "He killed himself at age twenty-six. Jim, Barrington will be twenty-six this month."

 

"I'm going to help, Gavin," Jim said. He touched his old friend's arm, "I won't let anything happen to him."

 

Those words rang in his ears as Jim headed towards Simon's studio. He would do everything within his power to protect Lannier, he couldn't explain why, but they were bound by something very strong. He entered Simon's apartment without knocking and found his friend in his usual place, his drawing table under the windows. "Hey," he greeted.

 

"Hey, yourself." 

 

"Simon, who's the best authority on Cascade history you know?"

 

Banks gave it a second's thought then said, "Professor Blake over at Rainier."

 

"No, I don't want the whole settled by timber men spiel," Jim said. "I want the "who shot who for sleeping with his wife" stuff." 

 

Banks gave him a quizzical look but answered. "That would be Pops Merkle at the Argosy Book shop."

 

"Let's go." 

 

*****

 

Pops Merkle turned out to be a wealth of information on the dirty dealings in early Cascade. "Carlos Valdes, such a tragedy. He had it all but lost everything because he loved the wrong woman."

 

"Is the McKittrick Hotel on Syracuse of any significance?" Jim asked.

 

"That was the house he built for Carlotta," Pops explained. "Carlos wanted to spend his life right there with Carlotta and their son. He lived there after she died and the Sands took his child from him. He lost his money fighting to regain his son but back in those days it was hard for someone like Carlos, someone not white, to win any battle with a wealthy family like that."

 

"So?" Simon asked once they were headed back towards his studio. "Why this sudden interest in ancient history?" Jim didn't answer. "This has something to do with Desmond, doesn't it?"

 

"Okay, yes, it does," Jim finally admitted. "He asked me to keep and eye on his stepson. He's worried about the kid, thinks he might be obsessed with the past."

 

Ellison could feel Simon's gaze on him but didn't meet his eye. "Is he handsome?"

 

"Barrington? Yes, he's very nice looking," he said, but not wanting Simon to rib him, added, "in a preppy kind of way. Wears tailored clothes and deck shoes, you know, the GQ look." Banks laughed softly but didn't comment. At his studio Simon reached out and took the museum catalog with the photo of Carlos' painting.

 

"Maybe I'll do my own research," Banks said, gave him a wink and was gone. Jim drove back to his loft apartment. He didn't even bother to undress, just fell across his bed in his clothes. That night he dreamed he was running across the rooftops again and when he heard his name screamed, it was Lannier falling. He woke with a strangled scream in his throat and lay in the darkness until finally exhaustion pulled him back into sleep. 

 

***

 

Barrington repeated his actions the next day. Flower shop, churchyard, and museum but then, instead of heading south towards Syracuse, he turned right and drove towards the bay. It was late afternoon when he pulled to a stop near the Cascade Bridge and parked at the foot of the huge structure. There was no discreet place for Jim to hide but Barrington didn't seem aware of anything but the shimmering water. He walked like a man in a trance, languidly drifting towards the water, then stood on the edge of the path and began shredding the flowers he carried and letting the current carry them out into the bay. Jim saw his intent only an instant before Lannier hurled himself into the water. "No!" He was moving before he even realized it, 

 

Ellison shed his jacket and dove into the choppy water. It closed over his head, muffling all sound except a dull pounding coming from someplace just below him. Jim jackknifed his body, diving down through the cold bay waters until he could make out a faint dark outline. He reached for it, caught hold and kicked for the surface. He could see a set of stairs which led back up to the flat walkway and made for them as quickly as he could. Barrington hadn't been under long enough to do any real damage but he seemed completely out of it, head lolling against Jim's chest as he carried him up the stairs and to his car. For a moment he considered taking the young man to a hospital but there would be questions - questions he did not want to answer. Ellison started Lannier's car and turned it towards his loft. 

 

Darkness provided cover as he carried his burden from the car and inside the converted warehouse where he lived. His apartment was on the third floor, a spacious loft that had become his refuge from the world. Ellison seldom invited people into his home because this was the one place where he felt totally in control and completely safe. As he settled Lannier on the couch and gazed down at him, Jim was surprised to find the thought of him here, in this sanctuary he had created, a welcome one. Barrington had not fully regained consciousness since he went into the water, several times on the trip to the loft he had cried out but it must have been in nightmares. Now he lay pale and limp as Jim stripped him bare, covering him with a couple of quilts he dragged from his own bed. Once he'd done what he could to make Lannier comfortable, Jim sat back to wait, watching the tantalizing rise and fall of the other man's chest.

 

An hour later the ringing phone startled them both. Jim clawed for the small handset and Lannier bolted upright, eyes wide, luminescent with fear but he stayed utterly silent. "Yeah? Oh! Look, I'll call you back in a bit, okay? No, just - I'll call you back." He carefully dropped the phone and returned the calculating gaze. "Here," he said and pulled his robe from where it lay across the foot of the couch, "you should put this on." Lannier's gaze shifted, staring down at the blankets then lifted again. Jim could not read the look in his eyes but decided retreating to the kitchen might be best. He was busy with the coffee pot when he heard the slowly slap of bare feet behind him. "You want milk in your coffee?" There was no answer. He turned and nearly dropped the cup he held.

 

Lannier stood before him, hair down and curling damply around his face. Ellison had thought Barrington Lannier the most exotic creature he'd ever seen there at Ernie's but now, wearing only an old robe and with his hair a wild tangle, he looked like some pagan god come to life. "How - how did I get here?" he asked in a rich, melodious voice.

 

"You don't remember?" Lannier hesitated, then shook his head. "You fell into the bay," Jim lied. "I pulled you out."

 

"Why didn't you take me home?"

 

Jim indicated a stack of pillows in front of the fireplace, "Go get warm, I'll bring you some coffee." He filled two cups and headed for the living room. Lannier had settled in front of the fire, its flickering light played over his face, making the breath catch in Jim's chest. "Here," he rasped. Lannier turned and took the cup. "I didn't take you home because I didn't know your name and I didn't think you'd want to go home in that state."

 

Lannier seemed to consider this, then nodded, "Blair. My name," he paused again, looking flustered, "my name is Barrington Lannier but my friends call me Blair."

 

"Okay, Blair, it is. By the way I'm Jim Ellison." They stared at each other for a long moment, sipping the steaming liquid. "What were you doing at the bay?"

 

Blair gazed deep into the fire. "Watching the ships," he said slowly.

 

"What ships, Chief? I don't remember seeing any."

 

Blair pressed a hand to his temple, closing his eyes as if to remember something. "Ships. They come up from California." 

 

"And you like to watch them?" Blair nodded, still with his eyes closed. "What do you remember? What were you doing before you went to see the ships?"

 

"Driving."

 

"Where? Where did you go?"

 

"Around. I was just driving! Why these questions? I was driving, I went to the bay and I fell in. You said I did. And you saved me. That's all." He was shouting, clutching the cup with both hands and staring into the fire. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

 

"I didn't say you did." Jim moved over to Blair, squatting next to him. "It's okay. I -" The phone rang again. He snatched it up. Yeah? Oh, it's you." He covered the mouthpiece. "Drink your coffee, Chief. I'll just be a minute." He took the phone into the spare room, closing the door behind him. "It's okay, Gavin. He's here with me. No, he jumped into the bay. He's fine, just a little shaky right now. I'll drive him home as soon as he's warm. Don't worry, Gavin." As he pressed the off button, Jim heard the distinctive sound of his front door closing. "Damn!" He jerked open the door, sprinted across the room and into the hall but it was too late, the elevator had already reached the lobby. "Damn," he repeated. 

 

***

 

At 10AM Jim Ellison was back in front of the Sandford. He watched Blair get into his car and head out but this time the green car took a different route. It wasn't until Blair had turned onto Prospect that Jim understood where he was heading. Ellison pulled his Lexus up beside the Volvo and got out. "Hi," he called and watched the other man whirl to face him.

 

"Oh, hey, Jim. I was just," he waved a hand towards the mail boxes, "dropping off a note of thanks."

 

"Guess I better get the mail, huh?" Jim grinned at him, heartened by the shy smile on Blair's face. He used his key and extracted a small envelope. It contained a scribbled missive of thanks and a hope that they would meet again. "Me, too," he said.

 

"What?"

 

"I hope we meet again."

 

Now Blair grinned, "We just did." He headed for his car and Jim followed.

 

"Where are you heading?"

 

"Oh, I don't know. I like to wander around."

 

"I like doing that, too." Jim made a show of thinking hard, "You know it would be better if we wandered together, use less gas, pollute less air. What do you say, Chief?"

 

Blair narrowed his eyes, gazing at him from beneath his lashes. "Well, I guess if it will help save the environment, I'm all for it." Jim hopped into the old Volvo and a moment later they were making their way north of the city. High rises gave way to houses and those, in turn, to long stretches of forest. Jim sat watching his companion as Blair steered the car along a winding road, negotiating a steep, graveled path which led back into the trees. They parked and got out. Trees surrounded them, a solid barrier of green that soared high over head and scented the air with a sweet fragrance that made Jim want to just stay there and breathe. "This is fantastic," Blair whispered. They wandered the trails, making their way further back into the forest, through pools of muted sunlight. It was like stepping back in time, like being the only people alive at the beginning of the world. They came to a small display, a cross section of one of the giant sequoia that grew in the area. Dates had been marked on the rings.

 

"I was born here," Blair said, dreamily touching a mark two thirds of the way out from the center, "and I died here." His finger traced a short path, ending a long time before the year he must surely have been born. 

 

"How can that be?" Jim whispered but Blair didn't answer. He moved away, walking slowly, almost drifting back into the shadows. Jim watched him go, unease rising when Blair failed to appear on the far side of the big tree. "Blair? Chief, where are you?" His heart started a frantic beat. With long purposeful strides, Ellison got to the tree as quickly as possible and found Blair leaning against the trunk, his gaze distant. "Blair? Where are you?"

 

"Here, with you." But he sounded drugged, lost.

 

"Are you? Have you been here before?" Jim pressed close, gripping Blair by his arms, both men were trembling.

 

"Y-yes."

 

"When? When were you here?"

 

"A long time ago," Blair said, "before I died." He shook his head, coming back. "I don't know," he whispered, "it's dark. I'm afraid." Jim sighed, pulling him closer. 

 

"It's okay, you're here with me." 

 

"It's not okay, Jim. It's like walking a long, dark corridor and once there were mirrors but now they're broken. Small pieces are all that's left and as I pass, I see little bits reflected there but nothing I can grasp." He shuddered in Jim's arms, clinging to him. Jim brushed back a single strand of hair which had escaped the tie that kept it back and planted a feathery kiss on Blair's brow. "It's all a jumble and at the end of this hall is only blackness. I keep walking towards the darkness even though I know if I get to it I'll die."

 

"No! I won't let that happen, Blair," Jim said with fierce determination. "I won't let it happen." He held Blair, kissing his hair, his temple, his cheek. "I won't let it happen." 

 

"Save me, Jim," Blair begged, "save me from all this." He raised his face and his mouth sought out Jim's. His kiss was urgent and demanding, and Jim met it with equal force. They broke apart only when their knees gave way, and then knelt on the spongy forest floor, savoring the shock waves which swept through them. 

 

"Ah, Chief," Jim moaned. "This is so strange. I've never wanted anyone like this, needed anyone so much in my life."

 

"I feel it, too, Jim." They made love there beneath the trees, lying naked on the blanket of their discarded clothing. Jim explored the mystery of Blair's thighs, moving up with little licking kisses, holding Blair still with one hand planted in the middle of his chest. The small desperate sounds his lover produced ignited a fire within him, as did the scent of Blair's arousal leaking from his swollen cock, stoking it higher. Ellison gave the shaft an experimental lick; the resulting howl turned his insides to water. He took Blair into his mouth, all the way to the root, and began to suck. Skin, slick with sweat and hot to the touch, a salty tang that made his head spin burst across his tongue. He could have gone on for hours but Blair gave a single, guttural groan and emptied his seed into Jim's mouth. Ellison swallowed hungrily, wanting nothing more than to possess this fantastic man. His own cock, engorged and throbbing, brushed the opening to Blair's body and with no more stimulation than the thought of one day nestling there, shot its thick, milky wad. 

 

Exhausted, drained by the intensity of what had exploded between them, both men lay tangled together. Only when dusk arrived, bringing the cool evening air with it, did they stir. "We've got to get going," Jim said, reluctantly pushing himself up. Blair lay there a moment longer, his hair fanned out around him, his eyes heavy and sated. He smiled a smile completely unlike anything Jim had seen before. It was almost as if he were a different person, someone younger, more carefree, the spark of life inside him so bright it was blinding. It lasted only a second and then the shadows returned but the memory of that happy young man remained with Jim, lodged deep within his heart.

 

"Take me somewhere where there's light," Blair begged softly. They dressed in silence, though Blair reached out, running his hand gently along Jim's side as he pulled on his shirt, then together they strolled out of the forest towards the sound of the ocean. Waves crashed over a beach far below the bluff where they stood. Jim looked out towards the horizon almost expecting to see tall ships but saw only the sinking sun. He caught a glimpse of Blair moving nearer the edge and jogged after him. Lannier turned at the sound of his steps. "Why did you run?"

 

"I saved your life; the Chinese believe that makes me responsible for you." He traced a finger along Blair's cheek. "I want to be responsible for you." 

 

Blair hugged himself, looking out at the water. "What's happening to me? I see things, a room where I sit alone. A grave - my grave."

 

"How do you know it's yours?" Jim asked. "Is there a name on it?"

 

"No, it's an open grave but I know it's mine." He fell silent again, his eyes unfocused as they stared outward. "There's something else, it must be a dream. There's a tower, I think it's in Spain. It's tall and white and I can hear the bell ringing."

 

"I just need to the find the key," Jim said, "If I can find the beginning I can explain it."

 

"What if you can't? What if the only explanation is I'm insane?" Blair asked. "I can see the end of the corridor, Jim. I've always stopped before I reached the darkness at the end but -"

 

"Not yesterday?" Jim guessed and saw Blair shiver.

 

"Yes." Ellison wrapped his arms around Blair, pulling him to his chest so that they stood looking out at the sea and the fiery sun sinking into it. He tried not to let the symbolism of that moment, the dying of the day, get to him but he could feel the resigned slump of Blair pressed against him. 

 

Blair dropped him at his loft then headed back to the apartment he shared with his stepfather. Jim, more worried than he'd been in years, cleaned up then climbed into his car and headed over to Simon's studio. "Hey, stranger," Simon called when he walked in, "where have you been these passed few days?"

 

"Hey, Simon." Jim got himself a beer from the fridge and plopped onto the couch. "Out wandering. So what's so important you had to slip a note under my door?"

 

"Nothing important," Simon said, smirking. "I just haven't been able to get hold of you. You don't answer you cell phone, you're never home anymore. I just thought we could hit a movie, have a little dinner."

 

"And talk about what I've been doing?" Jim guessed. Simon offered his most innocent smile. "What have you been doing?" 

 

"I'm glad you asked, Jimmy-My-Boy!" Banks walked to a large easel in the corner and gestured to the painting resting on it. "My latest creation. I'm rather proud of it."

 

Ellison gave him a suspicious look and walked slowly towards the painting. Simon's sense of humor was a strange and bizarre thing and he wasn't sure what to expect on the easel. What he found destroyed the good mood between them, his disappointment and hurt too deep for more than a slow shake of his head. Banks had reproduced the portrait of Carlos Valdes only painted in his own face. 

 

"Jim? Come on, it was a joke, okay? I'm sorry!"

 

"No," Jim said quietly. "No." He left without another word, walking to his car without being aware of anyone or anything he passed. Simon had always been his friend; they had shared good times as well as bad. Their friendship had gone from two macho cops bonding over the work, to lovers to men who still cared deeply for each other. He'd thought Simon would see that what he felt for Blair, the unrelenting force which drew him to the younger man, was real and strong and unstoppable and Simon had treated it as a joke. Emotionally drained once again, Jim went home. He fell asleep on the couch, rousing at 5 AM when someone pounded on his door.

 

"Blair! What is it?"

 

Lannier stood in his doorway, pale, eyes huge. "I had the dream again," he spoke with force, catching hold of Jim. 

 

"It's okay, you're awake now and you're here." Jim pulled him inside and steered him to the couch. "Tell me what you saw."

 

"I saw the tower again, but more clearly this time," Blair said. "It was a Spanish Mission. A white bell tower over a plaza, and an old gray house with a balcony. I could see a stable beside it with a long line of carriages." His chest heaved with anxiety and he gazed up at Jim with real fear. "I'm going crazy, Jim."

 

Ellison was shaking his head, relief a living thing inside him. "No. There was a store across from the house and a saloon with a hitching post, right?" Blair nodded. "It's real, Chief! It's not a dream. A hundred miles south of here is a lone Spanish Mission, San Batiste. It's perfectly preserved. You must have been there before. I'll take you back and you'll remember everything. It'll finish the dream, Blair." He leaned in and kissed Lannier's forehead. "You'll be free and we can be together." Blair went into his arms, slipping his hand up to cradle Jim's head to his shoulder. An overwhelming sense of peace sank through Jim; he could practically hear the living pulse in Blair's body, the blood singing through his veins the air rushing into his lungs. He relaxed totally into the embrace, ashamed that he, the protector whom Blair had turned to, had become the one sheltered by such strength.

 

"We'll finish it, Jim," Blair whispered, "We'll finish it." 

 

****

 

The bell tower stood stark and white against a clear blue sky. Jim glanced over at Blair, sweat glistened wetly on his upper lip and his hands were clenched in his lap. His own hands were cramped on the wheel, the hammering of his heart against his ribs so powerful his chest ached but they could not stop now. It ended here.

 

Jim guided the car through the plaza, passed the church to park near the stable. It looked shady and cool inside, a welcome reprise from the uncommon heat of the day. By silent agreement they went into the dark building, moving among the wagons, their footsteps echoing. Blair climbed into the seat of a carriage; his dark blue eyes appeared glazed as he stared out towards the church. "We were forbidden to play here, my brother and me. So many things that could hurt us, so this was our favorite hiding place." He smiled, a listless smile pulling at his lips. 

 

"When, Blair?" Jim stood looking up at him. "When were you here?"

 

Blair shook his head, eyes never leaving the white walls of the church. "Long ago." He climbed down, that detached quality wrapped firmly around him, cutting Jim off. He walked towards the church, staring at it as if all the answers were there in its blinding white walls. Jim caught him outside the door. 

 

"Where are you going?"

 

"Inside. Jim, let me go." He pulled away, bringing both hands up before him, fists clenched. "It's so unfair. It wasn't supposed to happen like this!" The spark Jim had seen there in the forest as they lay naked and sated from making love, burned in Blair's face. Tears sparked in his indigo eyes, "You believe I love you, don't you, Jim?"

 

"Yes, of course," Ellison said. "I can see it in you. It's so strong between us I can barely breathe sometimes."

 

Blair nodded, "Then you'll always know that if you lose me it was real. I loved you with my whole soul, with everything that I am."

 

"I'm not going to lose you," Jim declared. 

 

"Let me do this. Let me go in there alone," Blair asked. He hugged Jim, then disentangled himself and turned for the church. The graceful arch of the colonnade cast shadows on the lawn and Jim saw Blair pause a moment, his gaze darting up. Then he set off quickly towards the scarred door which led into the church. Jim looked up, his eyes following the path Blair's had taken and icy fear plunged through him. The bell tower.

 

He hit the door running, hearing the clatter of Blair's boots on the wooden steps in the tower. He sprinted after him but Blair was already making the third turn. Ellison raced upwards but even as he rounded the first turn his legs were shaking. Panic exploded in his brain. The floor seemed to drop away, and he stood on the narrow roof gazing down. Jim jerked his eyes away from the deadly drop, forcing himself on. Blair was up there, he was heading for the roof. Ellison clutched the railing, dizzy, sick, ears ringing with the thunder of his lover's steps, dragging himself on. Each time his feet left the tread the tower seemed to spin wildly, knocking him off balance. Sweat ran into his eyes, he raised a hand to wipe it away and almost crashed to the floor. His head spun, he had to stop, hands splayed on the wall behind him, feet braced. And it was then that he heard the scream - a shrill fear laden sound that went on and on. A shape plunged passed the window, a shape so familiar and dear that Jim's scream drown out the dull thud of the body hitting the pavement.

 

He had no idea how he got back down from the tower, whether one of the nuns or the priest helped him or if he stumbled down by himself. The world had gone black, vague shapes moved around him, the bells were tolling but he could hear only the faintest beat. 

 

"Jim. Jim Ellison," a voice penetrated the haze, someone he knew. Jim struggled, his head swaying as he raised it, and could just make out the features of Captain Janet Finkleman kneeling beside him. "Jim Ellison," she repeated. "What went on here?" Finkleman had taken over aver Simon's departure. They'd never had the easy rapport he and Banks had shared but Finkleman was a hell of a cop.

 

"He - jumped." The words came out of his mouth like bloody chunks of his soul. It didn't seem real, it couldn't be real. He kept trying to reconcile the Blair he'd held in his arms only a short time ago, that brief spark of kinetic energy, that fierce gleam in his eye, with the crumpled and nearly unrecognizable lump being loaded into the coroner's wagon. He couldn't do it, it couldn't be happening. Finkleman signaled two officers, they supported Jim to a squad car and an hour later he was sitting at the conference table in the Captain's office. Gavin Desmond sat across from him, his eyes red rimmed.

 

"Jim, the sheriff's office has okayed our conducting the interview as a favor," Finkleman said. "Is that okay with you?" Jim nodded. "What was your relationship with Barrington Lannier?" Ellison went over it all, his meeting with Desmond, where Blair went and what he did, the first attempt at the bay. "He tried to kill himself once and you still let him go into the tower."

 

"I - he wanted time alone," Jim murmured. He'd already gone over every detail in his own head; he knew each and every mistake he had made without anyone pointing them out. 

 

"It's unfortunate that Mr. Lannier picked the one method of which you were powerless to prevent him from hurting himself," Finkleman said, not unkindly. "Well, I believe we're already established Mr. Lannier's distressed state of mind. His death would appear to be a tragedy with no guilt ascribed to Mr. Ellison." The other officers and lawyers nodded agreement but Jim knew where the guilt lay. An officer gave him a ride home, Simon was there waiting for him.

 

"I heard, Jim," he said quietly. Jim didn't answer. He let Simon undress him and put him to bed as if he were a child. For a long time, he lay there listening to his old friend's gentle voice telling him over and over he wasn't to blame. He knew it was his fault, it had been his fault Rafe died and now Blair, his beautiful Blair was gone. He pictured himself in a long hallway, fragments of mirror clung to the walls in random spots. As he passed, Jim glimpsed fleeting images of Blair in those tiny shards but the closer the got to the end of the corridor the further apart those images became. Ellison could feel himself slipping away, the darkness which Blair had feared getting nearer and nearer. Simon spoke somewhere far away but Jim did not turn back. He stepped into the darkness and let it drag him under.

 

***

 

"It's beautiful out there, Jim," Simon said, grinning over at where Ellison sat by the window. "I haven't seen a rain cloud in three days, must be a record." He got up, brushing a hand over Jim's hair as he went to the CD player and popped in a new disc. "This is Mozart," he said, hitting play, "I talked to the woman in music therapy, she thought you might like this." Soft strains of music filled the room. Jim cocked his head but made no other movement. Banks sighed. "Ah, Jimmy, you have to come back sometime."

 

In the two months since Jim had been moved to the Westerly Clinic he'd made great strides in recovering from the shock of Blair's death. At first he'd been completely unresponsive, but now, inch by inch, he seemed to be dragging himself away from the edge. He was no longer hardwired into his hospital bed, his bodily functions performed by a platoon of machines. He could usually be found sitting in a chair by the window, dressed with help from his nurses, and watching the world outside. Banks still didn't know what instinct had driven him to check on Jim so closely that night, but he had and been horrified to discover his friend catatonic. When he couldn't bring him out of it, Simon had called the ambulance and by the time they got to the hospital, Jim's body had begun shutting down. He'd nearly died and the doctors couldn't say why. Simon knew... he'd seen men lose the will to live before and Jim Ellison had surrendered himself to death. Only modern medicine prevented it but still Jim had been in ICU for a month before his father authorized a transfer to Westerly. He was a long way from being whole but there were times his gaze would follow a visitor and times he smiled when Simon touched his face. He was there, just lost inside with no one to guide him home. 

 

Banks dropped a kiss onto his hair, getting another faint smile. "I gotta go, buddy." He walked out into the hallway, not sure even sure Jim knew he'd been there must less left. A nurse passed and Simon called to her. "Could I see Dr. Edwards?" She ushered him into a dark paneled office. Dr. Edwards rose to shake his hand, her smile warm.

 

"Mr. Banks. How did your visit with Jim go?"

 

"Fine, I guess," Simon shrugged. "It's hard to tell. I - I just wanted to ask you something." Dr. Edwards stared at him, brows raised. "Would it make a difference if I told you the young man who killed himself -"

 

"Mr. Lannier?"

 

Simon nodded, "Would it make a difference if you knew that Jim had been in love with him?"

 

Edwards regarded him with some surprise but quickly recovered. "Yes," she said, "I think it might." 

 

***

 

Ellison stared at himself in the shop window. The pale, thin figure who stared back was a stranger to him. Three months had passed, three months locked in a hell of his own making. He grimaced. No, it hadn't really been hell. There in the darkness there had been no pain and no screams, it had been blissful oblivion and there were times he wanted nothing more than to return to it. He'd been amazed once the darkness had begun to lessen how many people cared about him. He began to notice friends stopping by, all of them wearing the same anxious expression, and urging him back into the world. Jim could remember one vivid image of his father, a man he hadn't seen in over a decade, sitting at his bedside weeping. And Stephen, his little brother, had appeared, gaunt, distraught, begging him to come back. Cops he'd worked with, victims he'd helped, all of them wanting the same thing. Still, it had been Saundra Rafe, Tyson's wife of one year, who had pulled him out of the tunnel. She had sat there beside him, her hand warm and comforting, and told him of all the beautiful things she and Rafe had experienced together, thanking him for the time they'd shared and for being her husband's friend. Somehow, her thanks had done what the others could not, it had drawn him back.

 

"Now what the hell do I do with myself?" Jim asked the stranger in the shop window. He sighed and was about to turn away when a group of people passed. They were no different that any other group of twenty-something youths but one figure caught his eye. A young man stood with his back to the window, wide shoulders over which a tangle of dark curls fell, he held himself in a way that made Jim look again. The group was splitting up, each going their separate ways, calling good-byes to each other. Soon only the one man remained and when he turned, Jim felt his throat go dry. Dark blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, a strong, square face with a high forehead and a sensual, full-lipped mouth. 

 

"H-hey," the guy called when he found Jim staring so intently at him. "You okay, man?" He shifted uneasily, darting glances in the direction his friends had gone. "You look a little pale."

 

Jim stepped nearer. "Yes, fine. Do you live around here?"

 

"Oh, hey, that' not my scene, okay?" 

 

"No, I'm sorry," Jim could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. "I wasn't propositioning you. You just remind me of someone I use to know and well..." He trailed off uncertainly. 

 

The young man shrugged. "Oh." He seemed to consider something then surprised Jim by asking, "You hungry? 

 

"Starved," Jim said. They smiled at each other. "There's a diner just across the street." Lunch led to dinner and they talked continuously. Jim couldn't remember a time when the crushing grief of Blair's death didn't seem more than he could bear but that afternoon it seemed almost bearable. They were walking towards a residential hotel on Commercial when something dawned on Ellison. "I feel like an idiot," he said as they climbed the stairs, "I don't know your name." He saw the slightest start in the young man's shoulders, and then he was unlocking his door and stepping inside a slightly shabby looking room.

 

"Uh, Sandburg."

 

"Just Sandburg?"

 

"No. My name is Blair Sandburg," he waved a hand wildly, pacing as he spoke. "I know Blair is a girl's name, right. Well, Naomi, that's my mom, she wanted a girl. I mean, she had consulted a physic and everything and I was suppose to be Blair Marie Sandburg but well, as you can see I'm not a girl. So I'm Blair anyway. No Marie, thank goodness. Mark isn't my favorite but better than Marie." He stopped, took a deep breath and stared at Jim. Ellison had heard only the name, none of the rambling explanation. It couldn't be, could it? Two men, so similar yet different but each named Blair. He studied Sandburg, seeing his own Blair. There were differences; the glasses for one, Blair had never worn glasses. Then there was the hair, his Blair had always worn his tied back, hating the tangled mass it became in even the slightest of breezes. It had been lighter, too, a dark sandy color where this Blair's was a rich mahogany. But the biggest difference was the attitude, this one radiated unlimited energy, bouncing when he walked, gesturing with his hands, fiddling with the bangles he wore around his wrists. Blair Lannier had been a solemn, pensive man, burdened with great sorrow and pain and this one shown with the light of life.

 

"Can I see you tomorrow?" Jim asked suddenly. 

 

Blair stared at him. "I can't. I have to work. I'm a teaching assistant at Rainier."

 

"Take the day off, spend it with me." Jim reached out, touching one soft curl. He could see conflict in Sandburg's eyes but knew the moment he had won. "Good. I'll pick you up at nine." With a wave, he left.

 

A week passed, and then two and each day was spent with Sandburg. They would often wander around Cascade, visiting local points of interest neither had bothered with before, but somehow together it became a wonderful adventure. Other times they would simply watch sports on Jim's TV or read in silence. Whatever they did, it deepened the bond forming between them. "I want to buy you something," Jim said. They were at the hotel where Blair lived, idly discussing plans for dinner that night.

 

"What do you want to buy me?" Blair asked with suspicion. Jim had already bought him silly trinkets and seemed to delight in making him laugh.

 

"Clothes."

 

"What? Hey, man, my clothes are cutting edge!"

 

"I can see that, Chief," Jim said with a pointed look at the ripped jeans Sandburg was wearing. "I want to take you out for our anniversary and you can't go like that."

 

"Anniversary?"

 

"Yep. Two weeks today. What do you say, Chief?" Jim waited, noting the play of emotion over Blair's face. He could see apprehension and delight but the tiny flash of fear confused him.

 

Sandburg moved to his side, gazing up at him. They had never kissed, never done anything to acknowledge the attraction between them. "Call me Chief again," he demanded.

 

Ellison leaned down, his mouth brushing Blair's ear. "Chief," he whispered and felt a shiver pass through Sandburg's body. "Please, Chief. Let me do this."

 

"Yes," Blair hissed. Jim nuzzled his cheek against Blair's, sighing with pleasure. 

 

He took Blair to a men's boutique on Robson, an exclusive shop where his father had taken him for his first suit. Sandburg stuck close to him, edging around the display cases of silk shirts and hand dyed ties. "This is so not me," he whispered. Jim picked out several suits, all tailored and imported, most in dark colors. He had Blair try them all on, each less like Sandburg than the one before. It took hours, Jim wanting to see more, shirts and ties with the suits, shoes, casual trousers and dinner jackets.

 

"No!" Blair ripped the proffered jacket from the clerk's hand and flung it at Jim. "I'm not doing this any more, Jim. This is not me. This is HIM." He glared at Ellison, chest heaving. 

 

"Please, Blair. I just want you to look nice." Ellison took his arm, pulling him away from the stunned help. "It's not what you think."

 

"Isn't it? Jim," Blair closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, tears shown on the dark lashes. "If I do this, if I let you dress me up, will you like me? Please, Jim. I need you to like me." 

 

"God, Blair," Jim put his arms around Sandburg, "I do. So much more than you can know."

 

"Okay." Blair wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, offering a watery smile. "Okay, I'll do this for you." Jim chose a suit, a dark expensive suit and dropped Blair at his room. 

 

"Go get cleaned up, Chief," Jim said and lightly shoved Blair towards the small bathroom. He watched as Sandburg, brows dancing, carried his packages in with him. Tonight would complete the circle, he could feel it. He moved around the room, touching the things Blair loved, his books, his strange masks and pots, but something gold and glittering on the dresser caught his eye. Ellison gazed down at it, confusion clouding his eye for only an instant before he recognized what it was - a ring. Two serpents coiled together. He went cold.

 

"Jim? Hey can you toss me a towel? Jim?"

 

"Yeah, okay." Jim managed a strained smile when Blair leaned out of the bathroom for the towel. "Look, I'm going to go home and get cleaned up myself. I'll pick you up in an hour, and then we'll head to Ernie's."

 

"Ernie's?" Blair gave him an odd look. "Let's just meet there. It's not far and you'll have to double back to get me."

 

"You sure?"

 

"Yes."

 

An hour. He had one hour in which to set it all right. Jim turned onto Park street and pulled up in front of Simon's studio. 

 

He checked his watch, relieved to see he was only two minutes late getting to Ernie's. Jim made his way through the crowded restaurant and to the table where Blair sat waiting. He couldn't help the thrill which shot through him when Blair's face lit up at sight of him and only managed to steel himself against it with the greatest of efforts. God, he'd fallen helplessly in love with this man. "I see you made it."

 

"Told you, man," Blair said, grinning, "If there's free food within a mile, a starving grad student can find it." They talked small talk, each seeming to savor the rising tide of emotion sweeping over them. Looks would catch and hold longer, smiles became more knowing as the evening passed. With a twinge of guilt, Jim reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as if in pain.

 

"Jim? Are you alright?"

 

"No, I don't feel well." Ellison called for the check, paid it and hurried from the restaurant. Beside him, Sandburg ran to keep up.

 

"You shouldn't drive, man." He snatched the keys from Jim, and opened the door, helping him inside. Jim stiffened at the contact but Blair took it for pain. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

 

"No, take me to your place," Jim ordered. They drove in silence the short distance, Blair missing parked cars by inches as he kept glancing over at Ellison. Jim didn't wait once they were parked, just got out and headed inside. He was at the elevator when Blair finally raced inside. He let Sandburg take his arm and stood quietly until the door was unlocked and they were safely inside the room. "Here, sit down, Jim." Blair guided him to the bed, his eyes almost black with worry.

 

"No. I want to know where you got this." Jim rifled through the stuff on the dresser, holding the ring up before his eyes. "This ring belonged to Carlos Valdes."

 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Blair cried but his faced had blanched. "It's an old ring I got at some antique shop."

 

"No, it isn't." Jim caught his hand, curling it hard against his chest, trying not to be sickened by the expression of pain which crossed Blair's pale face. "It's payment, isn't it? You were in on it with Desmond. He hired you to be Barrington Lannier, to trick me into believing his stepson would commit suicide, didn't he? I bet he hid up there in the bell tower, knowing I couldn't go up there. Lannier was already dead when you got to the top." Jim eased his punishing grip, considering. "Why the scream, Chief?" 

 

"Jim, you have to believe me. I didn't know what Desmond was planning. He hired me like you said but I thought it was a joke or something. I was in too far when I realized something terrible was happening." 

 

"Come on!" Ellison jerked Blair towards the door.

 

"Where are we going?" Jim didn't answer. "Jim, no." But Ellison didn't stop until they got to the street. He stood on the curb for a moment, surveying the street, and then pushed Blair into the car. He pulled out into traffic, watching the rearview mirror. What he saw in it made him smile a terrible smile. They drove south, Cascade falling away quickly, passing smaller towns and isolated farms. Blair huddled in the seat beside him, shivering despite the warmth of the night. San Batiste loomed from the graying dawn, its bell tower somehow ominous. "Jim? What are we doing here?"

 

"We're finishing this, Chief," Jim said. He stopped the car, forcing Blair out ahead of him. 

 

"Jim, you have to believe me. I could have gone away. I should have, Desmond said he'd kill my mother if I told anyone what had happened. But I couldn't leave Cascade not knowing if you would be okay." He clutched at Ellison's shirt. "I worked at the Westerly Clinic, Jim. I mopped floors at night so I could be close to you. If I didn't love you would I have done that?" Ellison remained silent, intent on the tower before them. He moved towards the church, dragging Blair, closer and closer. Once inside he turned towards the stairs which led to the tower, and started up. "Jim this is madness. What will this prove? I love you. Can't you understand?" They were at the first turning. Jim slowly climbing, his heart thundering in his ears. 

 

"I understand it all, Chief," he said but did not stop. Half way, he faltered, shutting his eyes, gasping for air. 

 

"Turn around, Jim. Let's go back down."

 

Jim shook his head. "I'm going all the way to the top this time." They were almost there; the trapdoor had a faint outline of light around it. Blair pushed it open, and climbed through, Jim right behind him. "I made it." He shoved Blair towards the edge, grinning. "I want all the details, Chief. Everything."

 

"I knew Barry from the University," Blair explained. "We had classes together, even went out once. He was a nice guy. After his mother died, he changed, cut us all off. I think I saw him once. I heard he was being treated for depression. That was when Desmond came to me. Barry and I look kind of alike, both the same size, curly hair, blue eyes. He said he didn't want shareholders to get nervous." Blair licked his dry lips. "He paid me more money than I'd ever seen before. I thought it might help Barry someway, you know? And then you came along, Jim. God, I think I loved you from the first moment I saw you."

 

"Blair, don't," Jim said.

 

"I did. Gavin told me to do those things, the flowers, the grave, he said you were nosing around and I'd put you off the trail. It wasn't until you pulled me out of the bay that I saw where it was going. By then it was too late. He had Naomi. He would have killed her, Jim!" Real panic sparkled in his eyes. "Desmond told me to bring you here and then go up into the tower. He knew you couldn't follow me up here. He had Barry; I think he'd broken his neck before we got here. Desmond had a gun on me; we hid over there until the cops left." Blair gestured towards a narrow gap between the pillars. Something moved. 

 

"I told you what would happen," Gavin Desmond said. He stepped from the shadows, gun in hand. "It's a pity, Jim, that you have to die as well. I thought I had the perfect plan. My old friend, a trusted former cop with a fear of heights, as the witness to my stepson's metal instability."

 

"You won't get away with this, Gavin," Jim said. He edged closer to Blair, placing himself in front of the other man. "The cops are on their way." Sirens, faint but nearing, cut through the night on cue. Desmond cast about wildly, then seemed to comprehend there was no escape. Jim shoved Blair to the side an instant before the gun spat fire at them. It had been so long since his heightened senses had functioned that it took a second to realize he could see Desmond where he hid in the shadows. Ellison scrabbled around, drawing Desmond closer. He was at the very edge of the tower, the approaching police cars like toys below when Desmond made his move. With a shout, he rushed Jim, intending to push him from the tower. 

 

Ellison saw him coming. He stepped aside at the last moment, letting Desmond streak passed him. A shrill, terrified scream split the morning. Jim did not look down, did not see the figure lying lifeless on the pavement below. He saw only the living embodiment of his future. Blair met him, arms winding around him so tightly, Jim could barely breathe. "I'm okay, Chief."

 

"Yeah, you are." Blair pulled his head down and kissed him. It was passionate and fiery and filled with everything that made up the real Blair Sandburg. Jim kissed him back and together they went down to face the ordeal before them.

 

The End


End file.
